another lesson in loss
I can barely breath. An anvil sits on my chest. I think of other things and lighten a bit, but they are fleeting. He is what is on my mind, on my chest, in my heart, in my very being. Oh there are so many stories of unrequited love! It could make me feel silly if I could breath. Grief is heavy. There is no sun today; appropriate as there is no sun in my house or in my heart today either.
What I am doing is allowing all emotions to arise, to be present with myself, let things move of their natural accord. No grasping, no pushing away. Last night I tried to sit in the beauty of my need for love. (NVC/compassionate communication speak.) Then I realized it’s to soon. Mourning is what is here. I shall allow it to be here, just as I shall allow the song of the dove I am hearing outside to touch me on the inside. It’s song sounds like mourning.
My senses feel bereft of beauty, joy and lightness. It’s ok. This too shall pass. Meanwhile, taking care of myself in the deepest way I can muster is essential. Part of that care is acceptance of what is, moment to moment. Part of it is not beating myself up for anything – even if it feels like escapism. Part of it is sitting in a hot bath with candlelight, journaling, giving myself the time and space to be present with myself without distraction, self-empathy, going to the desert/simply being in Nature, listening…
A poem written by my dear friend Sky. Feels like it came straight from my heart today.
: a sound as soft
as snow sliding from a roof;
: a pain as heavy
as an avalanche’s white thunder.
: a full measure of loss and regret —
an empty space in the pattern of life,
a void of now un-ask-able questions.
gathers other griefs,
as geese gather
to honk and splash and disturb the calm.
droplets shaken free
of their pond,
fall for you and what might have been.
: all the griefs of my heart
frozen in the numbness of my winter.
When the spring comes,
in its time,
the geese will fly,
I will gather them,
a soft nest
for my heart
in the warmth of the thaw.
~ Kathryn Sky Roshay